


Unseen and Unknown

by neverminetohold



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Body Horror, Creature Inside, Demon Summoning, Eldritch Abomination, Impregnation, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Mpreg, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-19 18:09:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14242911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/pseuds/neverminetohold
Summary: To an ant, the sight of the sole of a boot spells the end of its universe. If it rails against its fate, it will receive neither answer nor mercy. The man Renard, desperate enough to summon a demon, will surely fare no better.





	Unseen and Unknown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/gifts).



Renard was feeling rather ridiculous. He was kneeling in supplication in the wine cellar, dressed in a black robe, waiting with bated breath for something otherworldly to happen. 

As the minutes dragged by with nothing stirring that he could see - except for the cobwebs and dancing motes of dust - Renard began to regret having put his faith in that traveling merchant with the odd gleam in his eyes. He had wasted good money on that old tome, convinced by the man's silver-tongue that it was the genuine article - a grimoire.

"I'm such a fool." He clutched the leather-bound book to his chest, one finger caressing the vellum. The bright flame of hope gave way to despair, leaving him hollow and cold. "Forgive me, Sebastian."

Perhaps the servants were right and this quest of his was madness. What was lost could never be returned. He could not descend into the bowels of Hades to bring back the soul of his beloved.

Renard stood, each movement slow and deliberate, weary to the bone, his knees aching. He surveyed the room, his eyes lingering on the candles guttering in spreading pools of wax, the lines and arcane symbols drawn with chalk, the ashes left by burned herbs, and the pig's blood that had dried on the flagstones.

He tossed the book aside, feeling an peculiar sense of relief as he did so. It landed with an echoing thud beside the rack that held the rarest vintages in his collection. Like a worm peering out of a bitten into apple. He nudged it away with the toe of his shoe, into a dark corner.

Tomorrow, Mary would have his head for this - but not fail to send Robert and William to clean up the mess he had made. Having raised him, her manner had always been overly familiar, but these days he found both her sharp tongue and mothering a comfort. More importantly, he trusted all three to keep his secrets.

Renard left the cellar behind with quick steps, their echo rushing ahead of him. The pristine kitchen, the well-appointed parlor, the grand staircase leading to the west wing - all seemed strange to him as he hastened past. The furniture and angles distorted somehow by the moonlight that crept inside the manor through the windows and limned everything with silver.

Reaching the master bedroom Renard slipped inside like an animal might rush for its burrow. He closed the door, turned the key twice. Only then did he notice the tremor in his hands. He frowned at them, first puzzled by this sudden impulse to lock himself in, then ashamed and a little disgusted at his childish fears and overwrought nerves. Perhaps this was the way it had started for his mother.

He needed a drink.

XXX

He went after the man he had chosen as sacrifice and host, through the corridors of his home, past the chiming grandfather clock, up the creaking stairs. He watched through the veil, that vibrant, diffuse sheen of colliding dimensions, himself unseen and unknown, if not without presence.

The enactment of the ritual as described in the book had entertained him. Human logic and their need to impose order on chaos applied to that which was beyond them. The man's fate had been sealed hours ago, when he had absorbed and become enamored with the idea that resurrection of the dead was possible, ignorant of the asking price or what he was offering in turn beyond useless coin. His Master would be pleased, he was certain, and felt alight with greed for the promised reward.

He slid through the locked door into the bedroom, watched the man pour himself two fingers of an amber liquid, sipping it, his agitation abating. Waited while the man undressed and longer, until faint snoring rose from the four-poster bed.

There was sentiment trapped within these walls, the tale of a mayfly life. The memories and emotions, the words and thoughts, all of it, ripe for the taking. He absorbed the information, but lingered on nothing, dismissive. Except for _Sebastian_ , a name that tasted of sweet, forbidden love and such exquisite despair.

He set to work and everything became twofold. That which he focused on to perform his task and the warped reflection of how the man in his deep slumber experienced it. He had no interest in granting the man the mercy of oblivion, craved his suffering, but his Master tended to grow fond of one creature or another without rhyme or reason, so he erred on the side of caution and spared the man's ego the trauma that was sudden change.

Formless as he was he settled over the man beneath his nightclothes, like a layer of mist. He sensed salt on skin that was losing its firmness to the passage of time. The man felt Sebastian's hands, undressing him, each touch a caress, teasing and loving.

He seeped inside, entered through pores and every orifice. The man felt Sebastian kiss him, thrusting into him, a surprising turn of events, their usual roles reversed, and a little painful, the stretch and burn and fullness that turned into pleasure.

He rearranged and repurposed organs to create the kind of womb and birth canal that would drain the host of its vitality and nourish the vessel it would bear. The man felt the tension build within him to the breaking point, leaving him begging and drenched in sweat.

He planted a sliver of his Master's essence in the rich and fertile soil, watched the egg-like shape unfurl and take root with barbed tendrils. The man came all over himself, moaning Sebastian's name.

His work done for that night, he left.

XXX

Renard woke early the next morning, a stray ray of sunshine warming his face. His mouth was dry, filled with the taste of brine. He stayed in bed for a while, blinking up at the wine-red canopy, his limbs heavy and heartburn a pressure in his chest that aggravated his stomach.

He remembered his dream all too well, could almost feel the teasing flicker of Sebastian's tongue as he mapped his body inch by inch...

Renard sat up abruptly, ill at ease for no good reason, except that the memory made his skin crawl in a way the coldness of the room could not. He staggered toward the bathroom, legs tangling in the sheets in his haste. He washed himself with icy water, scrubbed until his skin was an angry red.

He dressed himself without his usual care and attention to detail and avoided looking into the mirror on his way out and to the kitchen. The smell of eggs, bacon, and coffee greeted him on the landing. Renard felt a flutter low in his belly, a tickling sensation like a feather or bubbles bursting, but the next second it was gone. Replaced by a calm that lent his surroundings a dream-like quality, with blurred edges and mellow colors that he found soothing.

"Aren't you the early bird!" Mary said by way of greeting. She was kneading the dough for tomorrow's bread, her round face and apron dusted with flour as white as her thinning hair. "My, there's even some color in your cheeks!"

Some days these last weeks he hadn't been able to force himself to rise before noon. Pushing against the calm, Renard felt a flicker of guilt. He should have realized sooner how much his listlessness had worried her.

"Good morning, Mary." Renard settled at the kitchen table, eschewing the dining room, as was his wont when he had no guests to entertain. "I feel better now. It's a beautiful day."

He served himself until his plate was stacked high with sausages, baked tomatoes, buttered bread, and scrambled eggs. He wolfed down the food with ravenous glee, decorum and manners forgotten, as was Mary, who must have talked to him, and the wine cellar, that was still in need of cleaning.

In fact, by the time he looked up and realized that he was sitting in his study, with the ledgers and today's letters lying opened on the desk before him, the sun was setting.

"What... What was I..."

The calm frayed a little, then tightened its grip.

XXX

He kept watch over the man for the next three days, using simple illusions to fool the servants and hide his advancing condition from them.

The truth that they could not perceive was that the man's middle had swelled, was ripe and bloated, straining against the confines of loose fabric, and stretching the skin until it was so thin and taut it seemed translucent. He had touched it once, let his palm rest there, and felt the vessel moving inside, constricting the lungs and weighing on the bladder, leaving the man short of breath and fighting the sharp urge to relieve himself.

The man was kept calm in his sweet oblivion, went about his day like a puppet trapped in the ordinary, even as he remembered little and less, lost minutes and hours apace with his sense of self.

On the fourth day he contrived of a reason and send the man's servants away, then possessed a vessel of his own, a young man from the village he found pleasing to the eye. Beauty, to him, was no more than a useful weapon.

Before long, his Master began to gather beyond the veil, his presence so vast it crackled like lightning across Earth's atmosphere until it reacted, and a real storm howled outside the mansion.

The man woke from the pain as his water broke, not once but twice, from his dream and the calm, and seeing himself with clear eyes, started screaming. He snapped his fingers, irritated by the pointless wailing. The noise ceased.

It was time.

XXX

The image of Sebastian smiling dissolved as pain ripped through him. Hot liquid followed in its wake, gushed down his twitching legs, drenched the mattress he lay on. Someone was screaming, a raw and terrible sound.

"Enough."

Renard gagged on the sudden silence in his burning throat, realized that he had been the source of the animal keening and howling. Had Mary sent for a doctor? Had he fallen ill? Had he gone insane like his mother?

The pain returned in a rippling wave that throbbed and pulsed through his stomach. Something _squirmed_ inside him. Finally, his eyes snapped open and Renard struggled to sit up, found to his horror that he could neither move nor speak. But he could see - the obscenely swollen dome of his belly, the shape of fingers pressing against it from the inside, the blood soaking the sheets, the young man standing at his bedside, an eerie smile frozen on his lips.

"Push," the young man said, his eyes a vivid blue that glowed from within. "Or die."

And then --

XXX

He flinched at the rebuke, didn't dare to turn around and see the coiling shade that was his Master, his presence and displeasure filling the room until no space was left.

"My apologies."

He leaned down to touch the man's temple, disgusted by the feeling of sweat-moist hair brushing against his fingertips. He dragged the man's consciousness back under, into the deep calm that drowned the shock and terror and pain.

Immediately the man relaxed and his magical bindings vanished in turn. He was eager now, splayed his legs, guided by Sebastian's invisible hands. The vessel's movements elicited moans, each contraction and hard push the prelude to pure bliss. The vessel's head crowned, stretching slick skin to the breaking point...

He walked towards the door as his Master glided past him towards the bed. This last part was not meant for him.

XXX

They stood in the shade of a pine tree, sheltered from the rain that ran in rivulets over the grave markers. The man knelt not far away, his head bowed and lips moving. Renard had faded, looked thin and gray and drawn, but very much alive.

"Why not feast on him?" he asked his Master, puzzled at this turn of events.

"Mayhap I am not that cruel."

"Perhaps." He glanced at the grass and the flowers that grew and withered at his Master's feet, caught in an endless cycle of creation and destruction. "And yet you have chosen to look enough like that Sebastian to confuse the mortal eye."

Attention fixed on the praying man, his Master only smiled.


End file.
